


Restless Skies

by Ravager_Zero



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Other Worlds, Skylands, Steampunk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:20:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22127035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravager_Zero/pseuds/Ravager_Zero
Summary: Annalise Valknar is an inventor, a tinkerer, and an engineer. A demonstration of her latest project goes horrifically awry, landing her in the hospital where she meets the mysterious Elizabeth Stroud, a young woman with a shadowed past and surprising views. Their new friendship threatens to destroy the fragile stability the world now enjoys, but the change might just be worth the chaos. If they can stop it before it consumes everything in its path—including them.





	1. Material Sciences

Annalise Valknar paced near the Edge. The winds were weak today, and the siphonvines hung almost vertical. Though it was weak, the wind still ruffled her hair, and teased the hem of her overcoat. Her father insisted she wear it out anytime she ventured to the Edge. She knew he was still afraid. But Anna wasn't like her mother. Wasn't prone to such intense bouts of melancholy.

Raising her hands, Anna framed part of the sky like a photograph between her thumbs and forefingers. Clouds below, in the undersky, shaded into a very pale green and above her the sky was a pastel blue, with just a few streaks of wispy cloud painted in. She looked to her right, at the border estates. To her left was the Edge.

She always kept a respectful distance. Even weak winds could bring powerful gusts, enough to trip the unwary. She'd seen over the Edge itself, tried to see underneath the skyland they lived on—that her whole country was founded on—but to no avail. The siphonvines veiled much, and the rest… well, she had ridden on an airship before, but it wasn't the same as seeing things up close.

Her mind continued to wander, and she let her thoughts circle freely. Oftentimes when faced with an insurmountable problem she'd find herself out here of an afternoon, hoping the winds would blow some insight her way, or that the clouds might inspire some new avenue of thought. But today her distraction had less to do with problems, and more to do with solutions.

She just needed a break. To step back after everything was in place and think about unforeseen problems that might occur. The fingers of her left hand traced the thin scar along her jaw at that thought. Something strange happened to metals at that heat, with that much pressure acting on them.

That was why the new turbine discs were being made of titanium. Had been made. Nearly a week just machining the discs. Half a day for each of the hundreds of blades. This new turbogenerator represented nearly six months of painstaking work—forging and then machining metal within thousandths of an inch. Balancing weights to less than a hundredth of an ounce. But still she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd missed something vitally important.

Her father had helped her check every calculation. She'd even impressed a university professor with the thoroughness of her work. It seemed like everyone wanted this version to succeed. It was a lot of pressure for someone still eight months from their twenty-first birthday.

She turned away from the Edge, unhappy, but unable to reconcile her worries with her knowledge of how well everything had been done. The trees along the lane past the border estates seemed to frown at her, judging her for something she couldn't possibly know.

She looked up at one particularly accusing tree, then plucked an apple from its boughs.

“What?” She gave the tree a scathing look.

“Tinker, that you?” A shout came over the fence.

“Lewis?” She stood on tiptoes and used her elbows to bring her chin level with the top of the fence.

“Me dad's got me seeding the lawn again, but I don't think it's going to work. I swear there's a wisp cave right below us, salting this little patch here.” Lewis gestured expansively to the dirty patch of earth around him.

“Light a match,” Anna smiled far too sweetly.

“Very funny Tinker,” Lewis frowned at her. “I'd wait for you to sit down first.”

“Well that's not very nice.” She returned his frown.

“Talking to the wind again?” His voice was serious this time. “Still worried about that turbine test?”

“Yes.”

“Tinker, you are like the second smartest person I know—hey, until you can tell me how Cooper pulled that off, you're staying second. Anyway, you had your dad check it. You had a university professor _impressed_ with your work. Half the Forgers' Guild would probably _kill_ for your perfectionism.”

Anna tried to hide her blush as Lewis continued talking up her skills.

“You've tried to think of everything. From every angle—I don't understand a lot of it, but I know how much work you put into this. You deserve for this to work. Even if something does go wrong, it probably won't be anything major—or it won't be your turbine itself.”

Anna dropped back from the fence, massaging her arms after holding such an odd stance.

“I know you're still there, and I know you'll be fine. Every time you've run it in the past it's gotten better, so this time—this time for sure it should just run.”

Anna let out a little sigh.

“You're right, mister Carver,” She couldn't help herself with the little dig at his name. Lewis not realising how right he was could be infuriating. “I should just stop worrying so much. I've done all I can.”

“So, see you tomorrow then?” His optimism was nearly as bad.

“Maybe. I've got a lot of tests to run.”

* * *

Walking in the door, Anna saw a giant blob of a man sitting on a chaise in the reading room. He raised one hand in greeting, then turned back to her father. Anna frowned, moving through the house, towards the door to the workshop. There were only two types of people that could be so large, and that man didn't carry himself like a king.

Flicker visor in place, Anna studied her creation. The turbine was mid-sized, intended for use on an airship or a diver. It was, in effect, a steam engine. What made it special was the shaft arrangement. Two nested shafts, allowing high and low pressure stages to spin at their own rates. She traced the pipework back to the steam manifold from the boiler—state of the art, but it had cost less than a quarter what the titanium had.

Off the back of the turbine was a condenser, issuing low pressure steam back to the boiler. That hung low, to one side. The main turbine shaft was connected to a generator, which was in turn hooked up to carefully calibrated instruments from the university. She was going to _prove_ just how much power was truly available.

Mounted atop the turbine were the speed governors, one for each shaft, tied into shutter gates in the steam manifold. If something spun up too fast, the steam would be throttled down, forcing it to slow. All of this was hers, supported in no small part by her father, and the university whose professor she had so impressed.

It was time to run another test. She donned a pair of earmuffs and began the procedure for pre-heating the turbine. She fidgeted impatiently as the minutes ticked by, and the gauges ticked up in both temperature and pressure. Finally, it was ready. One final test before the demonstration.

Low speed. Barely 15 kilowatts. Throttle up. 50… 65… 90… 100 kilowatts. Change the steam pressure, let the governors adjust it. Prime the safety systems. Throttle down. Output falling. Increase power again. Hit the overspeed threshold. The governors kick in. Let it run for ten minutes.

Anna felt her excitement building with each passing minute. This was her creation—her innovation—and it could run the lights in an entire town. Tomorrow she could show the world what she could do. She looked back to the turbine, adjusting the lens on the flicker visor she wore. Everything inside looked normal. Heat and pressure were high, but that was the whole point. Links, gearing, shutters, gates, bearings and shafts.

Even if she did a full teardown, there wasn't going to be a mistake she could find. She sat, reading and annotating the handbook she'd made on turbine construction as her machine continued to hum throughout the workshop. She had to ensure it could run for hours, with no maintenance required during that time. Days—even weeks or months—were the real goal. But no one yet had materials that could last so long as blades in a turbine.

Afternoon drew on into evening, then night, and Anna knew she would have to eat something, just to keep up appearances. Nerves at presenting this in front of the university's engineering faculty were playing merry hell with her appetite. Still she took the time to go through the full and proper shutdown procedure. To make sure everything was switched off, stoppered, or otherwise incapable of movement.

* * *

Her father was in his study, and when Anna waved a brief hello she saw that the Apt from before was gone. Or rather, he stood there, transformed, a much slimmer man, handsome but for the jowls and hanging skin around his neck. Her father just gave a brief shake of his head. Nothing to be concerned about.

In the kitchen a maid was making a lot of noise, bustling about and cleaning the cookware and crockery. Anna took a plate from the cupboards, an orange, some cold cuts, and the end of a cobb loaf. It made more of a hearty snack than a full dinner, but she just wasn't hungry. She coudn't actually remember the last time she'd been this nervous.

She smiled wistfully, remembering how her mother would try to calm her, tracing her pinky down Anna's nose, from bridge to tip, not quite touching. She wiped away a tear. It was always the little things. Four years… only four years, but it seemed like a lifetime ago.

In four years she had made new friends, found a real passion, finished school, impressed a university, and built no less than five turbines—of which four had eventually failed due to inadequate materials. In four years she had seen her father become less dour, more personable, more willing to open up to her. She'd seen him progressing with his own studies, learning so much about the phenomenon of the Apt.

Anna smiled. In many ways she and her father were so alike. Always wanting to understand more. To create something that might help people. To make the world a better place. He studied the Apt, and their strangely manifesting powers. She studied the world, natural sciences, materials, physics.

She left the now empty plate on her vanity. It would be safe until morning. She wrote in her journal by the light of her reading lamp, then turned once again to her handbook on turbines, imagining the possible applications, the improvements to airships, and divers. She wondered idly if she would be lucky enough to be taken down in a diver as they harvested the heavy clouds in the undersky.

* * *

Morning saw Anna in an almost frenzied state. Not panicked. Not quite. She was just very, very busy arranging things. Drawings and photographs of earlier models. Sections from her handbook about how things had failed; how she had discovered the root cause of those failures. Some notes on her processes. It was like creating a museum exhibit from scratch.

Her father helped, a lot. Tidying the house, framing items, adding a photograph here and there of her working on some component of a build. Showcasing his obvious pride in her. She knew she could count on him.

Even the workshop was changed, cleaned. A safety chain was placed around the turbine, such that onlookers couldn't get too close. Anna went so far as to erect a blast shield. Just in case. If the worst should happen, no one was going to get injured beause she had missed a moment of safety planning. She even had handful of flashcards for explaining the relevant precautions to everyone assembled before she started the demonstration.

She began the process of pre-heating the turbine and its accessories. As soon as they were all gathered, the demonstration could start. Everything was in place. It was ready.

If only the butterflies filling her stomach would _listen_.


	2. Turbine Failure

The demonstration was smooth, showcasing the power and performance of a miniature steam turbine to an appreciative audience. Safety systems were demonstrated, showing the thoroughness of her design. Polite applause had been drowned by machine noise, but Anna had still seen their hands moving.

A soft clang echoed through the steam pipes, followed by another. Anna frowned, watching the throttle links close as the governors engaged. She turned back to her audience, one of them frantically pointing towards her foot. She turned to see what was causing such consternation. A small gear rolled past her left foot and she knelt to pick it up.

A very small gear, light, and damnably tough. The shaft had sheared clean off. The slowly rising hiss was the only warning she had. There wasn't even time to _think—_ but time itself seemed to slow for her. She yelled out a warning, and those that could dived behind the blast shield she'd erected earlier in the day.

She turned back, throwing her right arm up to shield her face even as she reached for the shutoff lever with her left. She heard the tinny, discordant ping from deep within the turbine. A second earlier might have saved her. She'd tried to save everyone else instead.

“Oh no.” Her voice was small, flat, almost lost in the din.

Everything happened at once. The turbine screamed in protest, shattered, smashed through its housing, and sent blades flying in all directions, embedding themselves across the workshop. A forest of blades hung from the ceiling. The blast shield rocked precariously against their impacts, but held, unbreached.

Anna had been just outside the blades' arc. Her relief lasted half a second. Compressed steam, with an easier exit, exploded from the low pressure compressor, splitting the turbine casing like a bomb. She was far enough away not to be boiled alive. Too far to reach the shield behind her.

Shrapnel scythed through the air. Her world exploded in blinding pain, unlike any she'd ever known. She was dizzy, and her body felt far away. Her arm actually _looked_ far away. She couldn't remember painting the floor red there. Or at all. She tried to turn her head, feeling something warm and sticky congealing in her hair. Even that seemed hard, her head full of cotton wool.

“Hold her down!” Someone was shouting, hard for Anna to hear over the ringing in her ears.

“Just use it!” Her father's voice held an edge of panic. “We don't have time.”

She could only scream as her whole right side lit on fire. Everything from her hip to her shoulder. Her father was pinning her to the floor. _Why?_ Her eyes questioned him against this betrayal. His expression hadn't changed, full of fear, desperation, and sorrow.

The smell of burnt meat filled her nostrils, and she knew it must have been her. Could only be her. But why would her own father pin her down for someone to burn her like that? Why was he so afraid? And why was there such a strong hint of copper in the air?

Her right arm felt like someone had shoved it into a grinder. The pressure of the bandage they were wrapping around her chest felt like it was trying to choke her. Tighter and tighter. And red—blood. Blood was already soaking through.

Her father flicked a lens around on his monocle, adjusting the rim of the lens. He turned to address the other man.

“It's all we can do. We have to go, now!” He turned back to Anna, pressing three pointed fingers into the side of her neck. “Stay awake, Anna. You've been hurt. Grievously. We stopped some of the bleeding, but you _must_ stay awake. Do you understand?”

“I'm hurt?” Anna echoed, uncomprehending. _Was everyone else safe?_

It didn't make sense—she'd been clear of those turbine blades. Then the explosion, it had just thrown her back, right? She turned violently, screaming as pain engulfed her right side. She blinked rapidly, trying to focus. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

She couldn't feel the fingers on her right hand.

She'd just tried wiggling them, and—nothing. Her right leg was fine. She could still move and feel her left arm. And there was still that stickiness holding her hair to the floor. Blood. Her blood.

“Anna, can you stand?” Her father already had an arm around her back, moving from her left side. His voice was still heavy with fear. She couldn't understand why he was so worried—sure, it was bad, but she'd been in a couple of serious accidents before. Nothing she couldn't—She finally saw it, her legs failing her, slipping against the pool of blood she'd been lying in.

The sudden clarity was so much worse. What was left of her lunch wound up on the floor in a steaming pile of vomit. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand—her _left_ hand. Her instinct to use her right hand had failed.

Because that hand was still attached to her right _arm_. An arm that lay in a shocking pool of blood, halfway across the workshop. It wasn't just her arm either. Ragged strips of flesh and muscle, and she looked down she saw part of her chest was missing. The bandage had a suspicous dent, and lack of _her_ underneath it. Not a large part of her, but enough for the shock to send her reeling.

Her father's pointed fingers against her ribs snapped her awake. This was the worst accident she'd ever been involved in. She was having trouble standing now. Staying awake. She felt weak. She was afraid. Sometimes people just didn't survive these injuries. Her breathing was shallow, far too fast. Her head began to spin.

“I'm scared,” even as her father and his assistant were helping her out the door. She knew if she fell asleep now it might be forever.

“Just stay with us, Anna,” somehow they were already out the door, many hands helping to load her into the carriage. Where had all the other faces come from?

“Hospital?” Her voice slurred as she spoke, trying hard to sit up. The world outside flashed by so fast. “Others?”

“Not far. They're safe. They got down in time,” her father's grip was crushing her left hand, but she didn't even wince at the pain. She _had_ to stay awake. Had to. Her father spoke again. “What went wrong?”

She could see it immediately, talking rapidly as she figured it out, her hand free to gesture wildly in the air. The crown gear had sheared off—but titanium was meant to be stronger than that. That led to the turbine spinning faster and faster, no longer mechanically linked to the governing mechanism. The steam shutters had failed too, the vacuum pressure from the overspeed turbine tearing them apart. The speed increase had increased the pressure, compressing the steam even further, but if any debris from those shutters got in then it was already too late.

The speed of the turbine was its downfall, blades shattering outwards as strikes from the metal and other broken blades weakened them. Those moving fast enough had punctured the turbine casing, creating an exit for the still expanding steam. Pressure built between the weakpoints, overstressing the casing, causing it to shatter between the existing holes. Catastrophic failure followed. Shrapnel filled the workshop, possibly even punching clean through walls or the reinforced ceiling.

It had punched clean through _her_.

Suddenly Anna's left hand was clutching at the pendant she always wore.

“Quickly!” She heard her father shout, and suddenly many hands were lifting her from the carriage, onto a stretcher. She was fighting so hard to stay awake, but her father was staying behind. Forced to stay behind.

 _Papa!_ Her mind screamed at her. _Don't leave me!_

That was the last coherent thought she could remember. A blur of faces, lights, rooms, blood, bandages. She floated, weightless, nothing making sense. When the darkness claimed her, she fell into the void.

* * *

“You're okay,” the relief in her father's voice was palpable.

“I guess,” Anna propped herself up with another pillow. “I'm alive.”

That, in itself, was still a little surprising. The blood she'd seen on the floor of the workshop, the massive trauma on her right side—it wasn't uncommon for people to simply _die_ from those injuries.

“The workshop is ruined, and your turbine is a total loss, but I think you would have already figured that one out.”

She swore.

“Language.”

“Papa, I'm twenty,” she stressed her age like she was seven. “I have a job—well, probably _had_ now. I can take care of myself, and I can use swears all I want.”

She knew how petulant she sounded, but that was kind of the point.

“Anna, just because you can, doesn't mean you should,” there was such warmth in his voice when he spoke again. “And you'll always be my little baby, no matter how old you get.”

“I—” she turned away to hide her welling tears. “Thank you, papa.”

“Anything you need, just ask.” She turned back just in time to catch his smile.

“I think…” she let out a heavy breath, looking at the bandages that covered her right side. “I think I might need a lot.”

“Start at the beginning then. Work it through, like you always have.”

“Papa,” she sighed heavily, shaking her head. “That's just it. I don't know where to start this time. I… I've lost an arm. There's so many things. Clothes. Cutlery. My tools. Sewing. Working your garden. Okay, so, a few things I can do one-handed, but not everything, and now?”

Her father said nothing, and she looked down at her sheets, bunched around her waist. Her knuckles were white, almost tearing into the sheets.

“Now I'm afraid of finding all these little things, and not being able to do them only when I try. I think that's the scary part—just not _knowing_.”

“But you know I'll be there for you.”

“Not always.” She couldn't meet his eyes.

“No, not always,” his voice was suddenly tender. “I can take some time away from my studies at the institue, but not forever. Especially not if you want to keep on inventing.”

Anna felt a smile trying to break through. She let it show. “Always.”

She felt it as he took her hand. “Will you be okay if I go for a little while?”

She nodded, glancing up at the clock beside her bed. It was late, and the gaslamps in the room were burning low. She hadn't thought to ask how long she'd been unconscious—or how close to death she might have been. Part of her didn't want to know. Part of her already did, seeing how reluctant her father was to leave her side.

“You can go, papa,” she spoke softly, finally respecting the lateness of the hour. “I'll be okay, I just need a little time.”

He left quietly, closing the door with a parting look of concerned tenderness. This time she couldn't hide the tears. She didn't want to. But still she smiled. Her father loved her, more than anything, and it was enough to keep moving forward.

She looked down at the bandages again, her vision blurred by tears, and realised that this would be the new Annalise Valknar. Or if not new, different. Her entire right arm was gone—possibly still lying on the floor of her ruined workshop. Shoulder to fingertips, and more besides.

The bandages wrapped tightly around her chest, and she knew it hid the fact she was missing a good chunk of her right breast. Down her right side as well—she remembered that feeling of burning, of being lit on fire. Her father had said something about not having time. She could see the blood on the workshop floor, so much it made her slip and fall.

It was the strangest thing that was missing, however. Her arm was gone, and her right side was swathed in bandages, but she could hardly feel any pain. A dull ache, but she knew it was too late for shock to be dulling her senses. She looked down at her left arm, wishing she could feel around the inside of her elbow with the fingers of her other hand.

Because there were little red dots there. She had been injected with something to dull the pain. Probably morphine. Which explained the slight haze in her mind that seemed to cover every memory. She looked at the clock again, noting the position of the hands. So far after midnight.

One-handed, she pulled the sheets back up and shuffled back down the bed. It was hard, falling alseep on her back. She wanted to lie sideways, but resting on her right was out of the question, and on her left, just the weight of the sheets turned the dull ache into a persistent throbbing.

She closed her eyes, trying to think of nothing. Slow, deep breaths. Trying to relax her body. But it all came rushing back. Not terrifying, but a strange kind of reversal. Carried back into the wrokshop. Blood flowing back into her body. Her right arm re-attached. The turbine re-assembling itself. The tiny gear falling from the fingers of her right hand as she reached for the shutoff lever. Such a small thing, not more than an inch across. Her left hand, just inches from the shutoff lever.

Then everything exploded in fast motion, and when she looked down a turbine blade had impaled her, pinning her to the back wall of the workshop. Blood was everywhere. She could see the steam hissing through the cracks in the casing. She could see the chunk of shrapnel flying at her.

* * *

Anna woke in a cold sweat, a kindly nurse standing over her. It was morning, and she was in the hospital. She reached up with her right arm to try and brush away her tangled hair. Nothing. She blinked, trying again. Looking down, the memory came flooding back. So did the pain.

She saw the nurse holding a syringe. All she could do was nod then look away. The brief spike of pain was nothing to the fire she felt engulfing her right side. Gradually the agony receded. She hadn't noticed the passing of time. Her left hand moved awkwardly, smoothing out some tangled bedhead.

She was ravenously hungry, and really, really needed to use the bathroom. Bare feet touched the tiled floor and a chill raced up her spine. She was still—just barely—perched on the edge of the bed. She stood slowly, a little unsteady on her feet. She shuffled forward, keeping both feet on the floor.

She managed an experimental step. The haze filling her thoughts was still there, but it wasn't affecting her balance. There was a nurse at her side anyway. She tried to wave her off, but nearly fell as she over-reached. Strong hands steadied her.

“Miss Valknar, you shouldn't be out of bed yet.”

“I need to use the bathroom.” She frowned at the nurse's look. “I am _not_ using a bedpan.”

“You are not going unattended, either. Not in your state.” The nurse's tone brooked no argument. Anna just nodded, starting forward, looking for a sign to lead her to the ladies' room.

It felt completely undignified—not to mention highly improper—to be accompanied within the washroom itself by the nurse, even if it was another woman. Anna let out a self-deprecating huff. It was hard to be dignified wearing just bandages, pantyhose, and a hospital gown. She hated needing help just to stand after relieving herself. It must have shown in her eyes.

“Miss Valknar, you lost a great deal of blood when you were injured. It will take some time to regain your strength. None here would dream of judging a person for such a thing.”

Anna ignored her, trying and failing to lather up some soap to wash and rinse her hand. Her nails dug into her palm and she thumped the basin in frustration. She forced the nurse back with a violent chop of her hand through the air.

 _Think, goddamnit._ She forced herself to look down. _One hand. Running water. Soap. If I…_ she took the soap in her left hand, clumisly flipping it over with her thumb and fingers. _But I need water._ She kept a firm grip on the soap, turning it very slowly under the tap. She cursed the shallowness of the basin and the clumsiness of her left hand. _It shouldn't be this hard_.

She swallowed hard, letting her shoulders fall. Her independent streak and analytical mind didn't have all the answers she needed. Not anymore. She turned back to the nurse, annoyance furrowing her brow.

“How do I do this?”

“You almost had it,” the nurse's hand folded around hers, taking up the soap again, flipping it around under the water to create a little lather. “And you're probably wondering about the back of your hand too—here—” the nurse took a washcloth and placed it on the side of the basin “—just put a little soap on there—good—and rub the back of your hand against it. And rinsing is easy.”

Anna grabbed the towel with her left hand, ready to dry off. Once again she could only do her palm. _Friction—that's what I need_. She pressed the towel against the wall with the back of her hand and moved it around. It was the best she could do, and for now it seemed good enough.

“Well, you figured that one out easily enough.” There was a hint of pride in the nurse's voice at that, and Anna wanted to scold her for being so patronising—but she held her tongue, because the nurse was only trying to help. She put the towel back over the rack, somewhat messily. The nurse squared up the corners.

“Is food a good idea?” Anna asked softly, opening the washroom door.

“Food is always a good idea,” the nurse winked at her. “It may be too late for breakfast, but there is a morning tea available. I can have it brought to you.”

Anna stopped, surprised. “I can't go to the cafeteria myself?”

“You're a patient, under our care. You also get our service.”

“What if I want to talk with other people, about normal things?” Anna looked around, seeing the muted pink décor of the ladies' room at last. She'd been trying hard not to see it, in fact.

“We have some communal spaces for those patients that might be more healed than others.” Now the nurse was smiling at her, and Anna was forced to read the name engraved upon her badge. _M. Seaworth_.

“Would it be possible to have my morning tea brought there?” If she was around other people, tried to act normal…

“Of course.”

And acting normal was the furthest thing from her mind when she made way for the wheelchair leaving the ladies' room. Suddenly her problems didn't seem anywhere near as bad.

The woman in the wheelchair was blonde, with surprisingly long hair and a distinctive foreign cast to her features. She also seemed fairly well at ease, despite the attendant pushing her forward. Her hands gripped the rims of her wheels and she turned to face Anna more fully.

“Hello,” her voice had only the slightest trace of an accent. She squinted slightly, cocking her head. “Have I seen you before?”

“I don't think so,” Anna shook her head, trying to be polite. She pointed to her missing arm. “I was rushed in last night—at least I think it was last night.”

“Ah…” comprehension dawned in the woman's voice. “You were the one causing all that commotion the other night.”

“I guess I was.” Anna instinctively reached out with her right hand, saw nothing there, then extended her left instead. “Annalise Valknar.”

Anna watched as the other woman's right hand twitched before her left extended to clasp Anna's. “Elizabeth Stroud. My friends call me Ilse.” She stressed the 's' closer to a 'z'.

“Ill-zuh,” Anna tried pronouncing it correctly.

“ _Il-se_ ,” Elizabeth replied, stressing the first syllable.

“Eel-sza?” Anna tried again.

“Close enough,” Elizabeth smiled. “It was nice meeting you, miss Valknar.”


	3. A Proper Introduction

Anna sat quietly in the hospital's gallery, sipping her tea from a worn teacup. It had been chipped and repaired in the past, and the delicate painting around the rim had been almost completely destroyed by constant use and washing. Right now it was helpful to focus on the small things, before working out how to do the bigger ones.

Getting into a proper dress had been hard enough.

At least the only audience then had been the nurse. Right now there were only a handful of people in the gallery, and most of them wore vacant expressions, or were staring out at the skybeasts grazing the highperch. In the distance she could just make out a red and white airship, moving quickly away.

She was distracting herself, quite deliberately. Because the small, heavy teacake in front of her was actually a daunting prospect—with only one hand. Because in order to butter the thing, she first needed to cut it open, which meant using something for leverage, or to pin it in place without crushing it. The same applied for trying to spread the butter.

Taking another sip of the tea, Anna finally swallowed her pride. It didn't matter if these people saw. None of them knew her. So she set her teacup down on its saucer, and lifted the knife. Her lips set in a firm line as she considered her options. A mere teacake would not be allowed to get the better of Annalise Valknar, no matter how hard it tried.

The first step was simple. Stand the teacake slightly on its side, and plunge the knife in. Trying to work the knife back and forth for a clean cut wasn't proving too diffcult, even if there were a few stray crumbs.

Flipping the top over wasn't hard either—although it took a little shake to separate the halves of the teacake. Now it was time for the real test. Trying to spread the butter normally worked, as long as she used a little more force, and wedged the plate against her side before it slipped from the table.

She smiled, taking a bite of the warm, spiced teacake now covered with half-melted butter. That was when she saw Elizabeth waving at her from across the gallery, having just entered the room. Anna gestured at the food in front of her. Elizabeth smiled, wheeling herself over. When she reached the far side of Anna's little table, she stopped.

“May I?”

“Sure; but the teacake is mine.”

“Of course,” Elizabeth smiled, hand reaching for a shortbread finger but stopping short. Anna nodded once. “Thank you. They don't let me out much?”

“They?”

“The staff here, who insist that a lot of their silly rules are for my safety. Most of it, however, is to give my attendants some respite.”

“You have attendants?” Anna was surprised. Monied people—and royalty—tended to have their own private physicians and medical staff.

“To help move me around,” Elizabeth's voice was matter-of-fact. “And to help with various needs such as bathing, or using the ladies' room, or even getting into a bed.”

“That's—”

“You couldn't have known,” Elizabeth's voice was soft. “It's not like we had a proper introduction.”

“Then allow me,” Anna stood, attempting a proper curtsey. “Annalise Valkanr, of Tulmus. Inventor and engineer; mechanical scholar in her spare time.”

“Elizabeth Nika Stroud,” Elizabeth leaned forward in her chair, one arm at her waist. Anna realised with a start that it was closest she could come to a bow. “Hailing from Ilfäer. Professional dilettante, malcontent, and third in line to the throne.”

Anna felt her jaw hang slack, and quickly closed her mouth. An actual princess? But in a hospital in Tulmus? And something about being a malcontent?

“You said malcontent?” Anna tried to keep her voice neutral.

“I helped the republicans,” Elizabeth's voice was light—too light. “Mother said I should at least hear what they had to say. She never expected me to agree with them—not being so close in succession. And especially not after the assassination attempt in my youth.”

Elizabeth's voice was a lot more animated, and she was starting to talk with her hands as well.

“But the thing is, their arguments made sense. They weren't calling for the elimination of the monarchy, like in Avimond, just changing its role. Let the people govern themselves in day to day matters. Have the laws apply equally to everyone, regardless of station.”

Anna couldn't keep the shock from her face. Republican sentiment was not a new happening, but to hear someone speak so openly of it was worrying in the extreme. Not to mention that this woman in front of her was actual royalty, likely to lose a lot of power and privilege if the republicans succeeded.

“Do not give me that look, Miss Valknar. I know perfectly well what I would be losing—and my sentiment extends only so far as the Edge of Ilfäer. I am not sure a republican system would work in Tulmus; the monarchy here is somewhat entrenched within the culture.”

Anna was quite confused. “In one breath you would tear them down, but in the next you state that it is acceptable for another kingdom?”

“Simply because I would not be so arrogant as to believe I knew best for a kingdom that was not my own. A kingdom I had not spent the better part of twenty years studying, and travelling.”

Anna was lost for words. Elizabeth seemed to take that as an insult.

“I can see you disapprove.” Her voice was ice. “I understand. I'll not bother you more, Miss Valknar.”

Anna held out a hand, but Elizabeth had already turned away, wheeling herself out of the gallery. Frozen by indecision, Anna cursed herself for a fool. Hearing views like that was just too shocking. And she had been so blasé about it. Anna began to wonder if some of the attendants the other woman had spoken of weren't actually constables or investigators assigned to keep her out of trouble.

Because a foreign noble that espoused support for the republicans could be all kinds of trouble. _Or she could get into a lot of trouble by talking to the wrong people—like me_. Anna swore. She knew she owed Elizabeth an apology for her rudeness, but all of a sudden the pain was coming back, throwing a haze across her thoughts.

* * *

Anna lay back in the bed, still recovering from simply moving about for morning tea. She hadn't realised how weak she actually was until trying to stand after Elizabeth had left. Half a step, then half a step more, staggering like a drunkard. It hadn't just been from the pain coming back. She'd had to sit down, waiting patiently for a member of staff.

Who had promptly told her that if she needed help, she was not to wait, but to _ask_ for it. Because her health and recovery were important matters. More important than her pride, or graces. She'd almost laughed at that one.

She did laugh now, growing quiet when the door to her room was opened rather slowly. A familiar mop of raven hair revealed itself.

“We doin' okay there Tinker?”

Anna was torn between the truth, and a jibe in very bad taste.

“Did I tell you how I lost eight pounds yesterday?” It still made Lewis laugh, even with that concerned frown.

“You shouldn't tease people like that,” and he sat next to her bed, placing a small duffel on the floor. “Your Pa asked me to run these to you, quick as you like. I didn't even get to try 'em on.”

“Lewis,” she drew his name out like a curse.

“He figured you'd need a change of clothes, given all the blo—” Lewis swallowed hard as he tried to say it “—all that blood… so much.” There was an overly long pause. “But you're alive, right, Tinker?”

“Alive,” Anna nodded in agreement. “Tinker…” she gestured to her missing arm.

“Yeah, that could be a problem.”

There was silence again.

“Need anything else from the house, or the workshop?”

Anna just shook her head. “Manage to explode the lawns yet?”

“Hah,” Lewis gave her his most disapproving frown. “No. If it is wisps, we'll get someone that actually knows what they're doing. Besides, you wouldn't like _me_ leaving random limbs about the place.”

She couldn't help the laughter, even if it did make her ribs ache. It was good to have Lewis around, just for that.

“No, I wouldn't, you're right—” she forwned, recalling what he'd said about the blood. “—my arm… it was still in the workshop?”

“No. Just… blood. A lot of it. So much.” Lewis swallowed. “I was afraid you'd _died_ , and your Pa was just telling me because he knew we were close.”

Anna closed her eyes, lying back against the pillows. Her arm was gone—missing—and from Lewis's description it sounded like a lot more blood had somehow ended up on the floor of her workshop. Blood that likely wasn't hers.

“Thinking it through?”

Anna started tracing patterns with her hand in response, trying to put things together. Papa had already told her that the workshop would need repairs. But Lewis had been let in for some reason—or, more likely, had been sneaking around after she'd been rushed away in the carriage. This time she wasn't going hassle him about it. But only because she needed more information to put the pieces in the right place.

The workshop had been consecrated, to the forge.

Magic and technology were normally kept apart due to breaker effects.

Her father had been studying the Apt, and one of them had even been visiting the previous night. Certain rituals required blood—the blood of a sacrifice, or willinginly given. But her father wasn't—couldn't be—studying those rituals. Could he?

And why had the Apt with him used so much power—enough to turn him into a frail skeleton of a man from a five hundred pound gourmand. Using so much power normally left marks on the world. Scars. Signs of unnatural forces—but there had been _nothing_ around the house, or the workshop.

Then she remembered the dream. The way everything had seemed to step back. How the turbine blade had pinned her to the wall.

That fragment flying towards her.

She threw up over the side of the bed, missing the pan there. Lewis handed her a cup with some water, making no comment. She took a careful sip, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before taking another sip.

The blood, and the sacrifice she could not say. But beforehand, when her father has shaken his head. _Papa_ lied _to me_. _Gods. He couldn't say it—it would have_ changed. Anna looked at her hand, studied it, but saw nothing amiss. But she knew what had happened.

Her father had scried, probably as a favour from the Apt, maybe just to gauge her success from the test—but he'd drawn a blank, so he had to scry backwards. He saw her death. And then, he had asked that giant gourmand looking Apt to _shiver_ her.

A chill raced up her spine. Anna had had no inkling of what had been done. Not until now, well after the fact. Her life had been saved, and her father couldn't tell her anything about it. Not until she'd figured it out herself. The law of binding fates.

The worst part was she didn't know _how_ to feel. So many emotions warred within her. Fear. Love. Surprise. Disquiet. Hate. Grief. Hope. Confusion. She closed her eyes and lay back once more, quietly asking Lewis if he might find a nurse or a cleaner.

* * *

“Are you alright, miss Valknar?” It was the same nurse—M. Seaworth—from before.

“I realised what happened,” Anna blurted out. “My father _shivered_ me.”

The nurse went pale, all colour draining from her face. “You're sure?”

“I thought it was a dream, but I saw a different future. The accident killed me.”

“Then we will have to move you, to a warded room. Fate does not look kindly on those who would interfere.”

“You're a nurse,” Anna was confused. “How do you know any of this?”

“Because you aren't the first, miss Valknar,” the nurse's voice was even. “I doubt you'll be the last.”

“If I'm so doomed,” Anna spoke lightly. “Then perhaps I should find miss Stroud to apologise before fate has its way with me.”

* * *

The stairs were definitely the worst part, even with nurse Seaworth helping her. Anna had to wonder how Elizabeth managed—because wheelchairs and stairs were not an appropriate combination. Leaning heavily against the railing, Anna hated how unfit she felt. Just climbing two flights of stairs was enough to wind her. She looked at the wall with some suspicion, noting the parallel guides running from floor to ceiling. She wanted to go down again and check that flight, because she hadn't been apying attention on the way up. Gripping the railing had been far more important.

So she studied the floor, finding a very fine cut in line with the stairs themselves, and another pair set about three feet on either side of that. You really had to be looking for them to notice them. The entire upper landing served as a lifter, with most likely spring-folding railings. But that would serve to move someone up or down a single level— _unless…_

Looking at the ceiling, Anna saw another hairline cut there, arrow straight. There were no lines for gaslamps or anything on the landing either. But that would also mean if someone wanted to move between one level and the next it would have to move every landing in the set—but that would just be impractical.

Anna wished she had her flicker visor so she could see into the walls and understand the various mechanisms controlling the system, because there had to be several interconnected functions. First was the main drive, for moving everything at once. Then a secondary system—duplicated on every platform—for moving up or down just a single level. Then a third system in each platform for erecting the railings during movement. And another, independent system for raising the railings on the stairway landings when the lifter system was in use.

She looked over the railing, noting how far back it was set from the lower flight of stairs. Which meant that the stairs could still be used at the same time. An ingenious design, and right now she couldn't think of a better system—especially not one that could smoothly lift several patients on their beds and any hospital staff that might need to travel with them.

There was only one patient she wanted to see right now, and when she gave it more thought, she wasn't entirely sure that Elizabeth actually _was_ a patient. With somewhat laboured breathing but steadier legs Anna left the landing, emerging into the main waiting area on the fourth floor. A male nurse took over from nurse Seaworth, leading her to Elizabeth's room, then stepping away to attend to another patient.

Anna stood in front of that door for a good five minute, gathering her thoughts, trying to figure out what she needed to apologise for, and how best to say it. Elizabeth's words ruined all of it.

“Damn it, you, just get in here.”

Anna still hesitated, hand slowly reaching for the door.

“I can see you through the shades, you know,” Elizabeth's voice got suddenly lighter. “And I doubt there's another nice young lady missing an arm come to see me, so just open the door already.”

Anna opened the door and stepped through, surprised to find Elizabeth sitting on a sofa, instead of in a bed, or her wheelchair. Elizabeth motioned for her to sit, and Anna chose the chair nearest the door so they could remain facing each other.

“You're not mad at me?” Anna swallowed, afraid she'd been too blunt.

“No,” Elizabeth shook her head slowly. “I think I might have said some inflammatory things. The people of Tulmus are not always as open-minded as the people of Ilfäer. I will admit I had not expected to render you speechless, but the look on your face said enough.”

“I still feel like I owe you an apology.”

“For what,” Elizabeth spread her hands in an expansive shrug. “I'm the one who insulted you, or perhaps your country. But I do not _want_ to apologise for my views, no matter how radical they may seem.”

“Then don't.” Anna was blunt. It was easier somehow. “Just realise that here in Tulmus you'll likely make a lot more enemies than friends.”

Elizabeth just laughed. “I think I've made enough of them already—but do you think that maybe I could call _you_ friend?”

“Maybe,” Anna smiled. “It depends on how doomed I really am.”

“Pfft,” Elizabeth waved a hand dismissively. “Doom is for prophets and priests. If you're dying, just be honest about it.”

“But I can't know if I am—or will—or whatever.” Anna's fist clenched in frustration. “Because someone _shivered_ me.”

Elizabeth cocked her head in confusion, one eyebrow arching above the other. “They what?”

“ _Shivered_.”

“Yes, you said. But what does that word _mean?_ ”

“It means somebody—Papa, actually—used a lot of magic to change fate around me,” Anna swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “I saw into the other side. The accident would have killed me—” she used her hand to mime something stabbing her through the chest. “—turbine blade pinning me to the wall, bleeding out…”

The world seemed to fade sideways, into an odd kind of fuzz, and suddenly she was seeing it again. Her arm leapt from the floor onto her shoulder. The scything fragments slowly assembled themselves into the turbine casing. The blades hovered down from the ceiling, back onto the turbine disc. The little gear rolled back towards the turbine.

The gear tumbled, hitting her foot. She picked it up, shouting a warning as she reached for the emergency shut-off. She almost made it in time. Turbine blades covered the ceiling, and she couldn't recall how she'd wound up on the floor. Her throat hurt, and when she drew her hand away—her right hand—it was covered in blood.

She tried to scream, but her voice wouldn't come.

* * *

A hard slap brought her back to reality. Elizabeth was on her knees, sprawled akwardly in front of her. Her pale skin was ashen with fright. Anna leaned forwards heavily, taking in several deep breaths. It was another path, a different fate. A minor injury, but the loss of her voice. She wasn't sure if that scared her more than what had actually happened.

“Miss Valknar?” Elizabeth's voice was heavy with concern and confusion. “Annalise?”

“I'm okay,” Anna spoke quietly, turning when the door next to her nearly flew open, a nurse on the other side of it. Only then did Anna really see how the distance Elizabeth had crossed; how badly she was sprawled across the floor. “Wait, are you okay?”

“I could use a hand to get back onto the sofa.” And the wink she gave Anna made the double meaning abundantly clear.

Despite the gavity of the situation; despite how inappropriate it was, Anna roared with laughter, forgetting for a moment how much her ribs hurt when she did that. The regret was instant, but her amusement lingered. Perhaps it would be worth getting to know Elizabeth better.

As the nurse helped Elizabeth back onto the sofa and urged Anna to leave both of them held up a hand.

“I think we could be friends,” Anna smiled, rising from her chair. “You can just call me Anna; and may I call you Ilse?”

“Of course,” Elizabeth smiled. “Now go, before you get both of us into even more trouble.”


End file.
